Taking Her Toll
by Shaw Fujikawa
Summary: Grand General Swain has a city-state to run and needs all the help he can exploit to see it flourish. When an ancient treasure is unearthed in Shurima and its principle discoverer requires an aide to defend her, who else can he turn to but the famed Sivir, the Battle Mistress? Oneshot.


**DISCLAIMER: Your intelligence would be in serious need of a buff if you were to suggest that I owned League of Legends!**

**So, Sivir's Visual Upgrade was one of my favourites as of late. I especially enjoyed her new library of quotes emphasizing her ruthless love of material wealth and cynical view on more orthodox battle traditions, and all delivered in a husky, deliberate tone of voice that's amazing to listen to. Plus, she's also quite the good-looking woman now if I'm allowed to say so as a member of the unfairer sex. Swain? What else can I say of him other than how his insufferable genius-type personality and magnificent bastard schemes make him a awesome character? Also, Tyrant Swain is canonical and probably the best skin in the game IMO.**

**This fic originally had Cassiopeia doing to visit herself still as a human, which I decided to axe for two reasons; one, I simply wanted to write about Swain more and Sivir's lore did not explicitly state Cassiopeia was the one to make the offer, merely the one who solicited it, and two, it's still ambiguous at this point whether Cass was human when she made the deal. I wouldn't be surprised - hell, I'm expecting it - if her lore was changed as have many others in Riot's lore updates.**

**If you at all enjoy these two characters, by all means, continue on.**

* * *

Taking her Toll

Noxian Countryside

Swain craned his neck to observe the gilded writing above the entrance to the estate.

"Gold is power," he read aloud. "How quaint."

On his shoulder, Beatrice merely gave him a dry look, not even bothering to grace the narrow-minded perspective even a minor caw in return.

He glanced at her and gave her a light stroke under the beak. "Let us see if the great Battle Mistress applies the same idiosyncratic thinking to what we have to say, then, shall we?"

The walk down the path beyond the gate was excessively long for Swain's standards, even after he had steeled himself for the long walk over Sivir's sprawling estate that he had been expecting during the ride there. This wasn't helped by the cobblestone path that made walking difficult with his cane and strained his feet more than it needed to. He did at least appreciate the well-maintained gardens prominently on display around the path, though he grew more annoyed with each passing flowerbed that their entire purpose of existing was as a show of riches rather than any practical purpose.

If a woman's influence could be measured with the extravagance of her property then Swain had no doubt that Sivir could singlehandedly rule the entire continent and a large expanse of the surrounding seas by her lonesome. The manor house far in the distance was brimming with the most luxurious décor known to the civilized world – squinting a little, he could recognise the exquisite window patterns as the work of Noxus' master glassmakers, the gargoyles glowering down at the ground from their perches on the roof as hailing from the esteemed artificers of Demacia's entourage, and the shingles on the roof being made from thaumaturgically-treated granite mined from Zaun's most magically charged and secretive quarries. Even most of the plantations just outside the house looked to be exotic species uplifted from Ionian soil.

Swain's upper lip curled. And this was far from Sivir's only known residence! The amount of excess the mercenary indulged in was disgraceful.

Regardless, as he finally approached the front doors of the mansion neatly tucked away under a massive marble porch, he schooled his expression into a polite smile. It wouldn't do to needlessly colour his interactions before they'd even begun, would it?

Rapping on the door with the knocker provided, he waited patiently for someone to answer. Sure enough, the aged oaken wood creaked open just a touch to reveal an old man in a formal suit peering through the crack at him. A golden chain hanging over the opening told him all he needed to know about how trustworthy new visitors were considered here.

"May I help you?" the butler asked in a standoffish tone.

"I'm here to see Sivir," he said courteously.

"I'm afraid the Mistress is currently in the middle of her midday bathing routine and is unavailable to speak with you. Please come again later."

The response and its uninterested manner of delivery were both enough to wipe any formality from Swain's voice. He placed his hand on the door, stopping the man from closing it in his face. "I'm afraid I did not come all this way merely to be refused entrance. I respectfully request that I be allowed to enter and wait for when she is free to talk. I am sure it is not too much trouble." Beatrice added to the request by fixating her six-eyed glare at the man.

The butler eyed him without the slightest semblance of trust, but nobody in their right mind was not aware of who the Master Tactician was and what he was capable of. "Very well." The door was closed and Swain heard the familiar clicks and clacks of chains being unlatched from their locks. Shortly after, the door swung open fully, with the servant beckoning him to come in.

"Much appreciated," Swain said to him as he entered. He received no response as the man shut the door behind him and moved to restore the locks.

"I will go and notify her of your arrival," the butler said as soon as he had finished. He coughed. "Please be aware that whether she chooses to see you sooner or not is entirely at her discretion, however."

"But of course," Swain said. The man took his leave, ascending up one of the two staircases in the room and vanishing down one of the corridors.

The lobby of the building was even more absurdly overindulgent than the outside, if that was possible. The twin staircases that wound their way around the outside of the room to the upper balcony – the wood texture suggested it was all made of hyperexpensive mahogany – were lined with gold-embroidered carpet. Priceless paintings from esteemed artists were placed at so many points across the room that it could have well been an entire art collection on its own if it were in a museum back at Noxus. A quartet of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling responsible for lighting the room were all equipped with what looked to Piltovian hextech spotlights. The trend of the Mistress' fondness for sculptures continued, with stone busts of warriors from several ancient cultures located in recesses in the walls.

To Swain's amusement, among this list was a full-body effigy of the Mistress herself in the very center of the floorspace, depicting her in the middle of what he assumed to be a hurling her crossblade. He appraised the statue for a moment and sniffed. Realistically the woman could never possibly be in such a ridiculous pose with one leg taking her entire body weight like that. It seemed more likely just meant for giving her figure a flattering image, emphasising her large bust and rear as much as it did.

"Admiring the view, honey?"

Hearing that husky voice again brought a smile to Swain's face, though more from politeness than genuine excitement. "I feel it fails to do your impression justice, my dear."

He turned and glanced upward to see the Sivir smirking down at him from the railing of the balcony above, hair still hanging in matted tresses around her neck from her bath. She was dressed in a bathroom robe that she hadn't even bothered to do up above her waist, exposing a titillating canyon of flesh all the way down her front. It seemed the propensity of women to dress in such a provocative manner wasn't just limited to Noxus. "As radiant as ever, Battle Mistress."

"Charmed, I'm sure, Tactician," she said smoothly. She moved to begin making her way down the steps, sashaying her hips a little from side to side as she did so. "Or should I say… Grand General?" she asked.

"We may dispense with the formalities for now," he answered.

"Glad to hear it." She reached the bottom of the stairs and gestured for him to come. "Let's go somewhere more pleasant to talk."

She led him into what he presumed was meant to be a small sitting lounge for guests. The decorations here were fairly modest compared to the rest of the house though still undoubtedly quite luxurious. Sivir motioned towards a minibar at the side of the room with a shelf stocked with an array of wines and spirits hung on the wall above it. "Care for a drink? I'm having one."

When Swain declined the offer, she moved behind the counter and retrieved a wineglass from below the counter and a random wine bottle. Pouring herself a drink, she commented, "Dom Perignon. They say this is the ambrosia of the gods back in the noble houses of Demacia. I feel it's a title that's a tad hyperbolic, though."

"Perhaps your standards might be too high," he proposed.

"No, only that other people's standards are too low," she said. She corked the bottle again and took a small sip of the liquid before giving a thin smile. "Now, what might I do for you, General? I'm assuming it wasn't to let you admire my talents."

He placed his cane in front of him and assumed an officious pose. "Banish any fears you have about possibly hostility, I can assure you I am here only to make a small offer, one that could have you as a great beneficiary indeed."

"Intriguing," she said as her eyes flashed. "When I was informed that you had come to my doorstep, I was expecting thinly veiled threats to return to Noxus' partnership."

Beatrice squawked and Swain smirked. "Even if I had been, the Spell Shield stones you have under your bathrobe would not be enough to save you from me at this range, my dear."

She grinned. "As observant as ever, Jericho. Do you know of all the other failsafes I have in place for just such an occasion?"

"I may," he joked, "but we're getting ahead of ourselves. Would you not like to hear my proposal?"

She threw her glass up, chugging down the rest of her drink in one gulp and placed the empty glass back down on the counter. The woman could certainly handle her liquor. "Enlighten me, dear."

"As part of my recent initiatives to improve Noxus' material worth," he began, "I've had our archaeologists visit multiple areas across Valoran, searching for ancient relics that might make us stronger as a city-state in the long run. Recently, in Shurima, we are supposed to have stumbled upon one of the greatest treasures lost to memory in that desert."

"And you need a tomb robber to go and get it for you," she finished.

He smiled. "Almost. A member of one of Noxus' most influential families has already agreed to retrieve this item for us. All that was requested was an escort to ensure a safe passage."

"Sounds fair enough." She picked up the bottle again and poured herself another glass. "And here is when I ask the question you've been expecting since the start of the conversation. What's in it for me, honey?"

"Two thousand gold," he answered immediately. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small brown sack full of money. "One hundred up front as assurance payment, the rest pending your – and your client – successful return from your expedition."

She gulped down the contents of her second glass and smiled. "You certainly know how to please a lady, General."

He laughed as he reached up to scratch Beatrice's beak. "I try, my dear. Have you any questions about the deal?"

She strode out from behind the counter, took the bag from his hands and glanced inside, eyes lighting up with greedy delight as she saw the freshly minted coins inside. "I prefer not to look gift horses in the mouth."

Accepting her response with a mild nod, Swain moved to leave the room, leaving Sivir alone to count her money. This had been almost too easy.

"Actually, Swain."

He paused and glanced back. "Is there a problem?"

She'd stopped her counting to give him a curious look. "Who was the noble?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Her name is Cassiopeia Du Couteau. Cunning as a snake and endlessly ambitious. Almost as beautiful as you as well, my dear," he added with a chuckle.

"I see," she said in a neutral tone. To Swain's unease, he wasn't able to gauge her underlying emotions to hearing that before she continued with, "It seems the Du Couteau line is a family of warriors in more ways than one, hm?"

He turned, partially to leave and partially to avoid showing her the scowl that creased his forehead. "Indeed."

She retied the bag, satisfied that her payment was correct. "Tell the girl that I will meet her at the Mogron Pass at midday tomorrow, as I usually do. Any later than that and the deal is off and I won't be refunding you."

Swain gave a nod, and that was the end of the pleasantries. After waiting somewhat impatiently for the butler to unlock all the dozen locks holding the door in place and being shooed out, he paused to take one last look at the building before making his way back.

"How one can stomach such excess eludes me," he grumbled. On his shoulder, Beatrice gave an agreeing caw.

After that, he was off, hobbling his way back down the path to his waiting carriage outside the gates.

* * *

**People might call me lazy for just taking already-known lore events and just writing them down instead of making my own story up. It's probably true that I'm not terribly creatively-inclined, but if you take to heart a controversial Rioter statement made some time ago, it's often the characters that are the most important facet of a well-crafted story.**

**That being said, I'm happy with how this turned out. Certainly more polished than my last oneshot, though I do still have that weakness of having very poor closure. I'll leave it to you guys to decide for me if I'm right.**

**Signing off,  
Shaw Fujikawa  
**


End file.
